Page 27 of Fire in You

Without warning, Rhage jumped up on the island.

Brock lowered his chin. “Well, hello there.”

The cat looked at him, ears perked and then twitched. He stared at Brock like he had no idea why another male was in the house. It would be a valid thing to wonder about.

“Sorry. He has really bad manners.” I sighed. “Rhage, get down.”

Plopping his butt down on the counter, he lifted one leg and slowly licked his paw as he eyed Brock.

“He listens well,” Brock said dryly as he reached toward him.

“Don’t do that!” I warned, but it was too late. His fingers were already within biting and scratching territory. Cringing, I wanted for the inevitable claw swipe.

It never came.

Rhage lowered his paw and stretched his head out, sniffing the tips of Brock’s fingers. Then Brock moved. Rhage stayed still as he scratched him behind the ear. After a few seconds, Brock removed his hand and Rhage hopped down, his kitty claws clicking as he pranced down the hall, toward the bedroom.

“What the hell?” I whispered, awed and a bit annoyed. “He hates everyone. Including me.”

“Odd. Seems like a pretty chill cat.” Turning back to me, Brock rested his arms on the island. “Anyway, you’re avoiding me.”

I was still fixated on the fact Rhage didn’t bite him or at least hiss at him. My cat was a traitorous bastard of the worst sort.

“And I want you to stop.”

“Huh?” I blinked, focusing on him.

He leaned in, his gaze locked with mine. “I get there is some . . . there is some shit between us, and God knows if I could go back and change things, I would. You have no idea how badly I wish I didn’t have my head stuck so far up my own ass back then. I can’t go back though. Can never do that.”

I clammed up, my jaw locking down so hard I was surprised I didn’t undo all the work doctors had invested in repairing my face.

“But you know, when Andrew said you agreed to the job, I was so . . . sofuckingrelieved, because I knew then I was going to not only get to see you, but finally talk to you.” He sat back and slowly shook his head. “Reconnecting with you means a lot to me, Jillian. I know I’m now your boss, and I know how this sounds, trust me, but I want to be friends with you.”

I had no idea what to say.

“And I know we can’t go back and pretend that I didn’t . . .” A muscle flexed in his jaw as his gaze moved to the opposite wall lined with cabinets. “That I didn’t let you down in all the worst ways. I know I’ve apologized before. I said I was sorry a hundred times.”

Brock had.

“But those apologies aren’t enough,” he added.

I studied his profile, dread building as I started to understand him. “You don’t have to be friends with me because of what happened, because you feel guilty or—”

“It’s not that. Not what I mean at all.” His gaze flew to mine and he leaned in toward me, leaving only a few scant inches between us. “I don’t want you to come to work and stress about having to avoid me. I want you to be comfortable there.” A lock of brown hair fell forward, brushing his forehead. “I know what I’m asking for is a lot. I know that there’s a good chance I don’t even deserve it, but I want us to be friends, Jillian.”

Friends.

God, at one time, hearing him say that would’ve shattered my poor heart into smithereens, but now? I didn’t know how to feel about that. Brock and I, as silly as it sounded back then with the age difference,hadbeen best friends. Losing all that girlish hope that one day we’d have that romance-book happily-ever-after had been terrible. Ending the friendship had hurt worse, because when I cut him out of my life, I lost my closest friend—my partner in crime and adventure.

“Can we do that?” he asked. “I’m being for real. When I said last Monday this felt like a second chance, I meant that. Can we at least try?”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure—had no idea if I could truly be friends with Brock. Not because he hadn’t returned my feelings once upon a time. It didn’t even have anything to do with what had happened to me the night Brock claimed he’d let me down in the worst ways possible, because I didn’t blame him for what happened.

But I wasn’t sure if we could be friends without me . . . without me falling deep again, slipping under, and catching the kind of feelings for him that would inevitably end in another heartbreak.

It wasn’t that I was that weak when it came to the opposite sex, but Brock had a kind of magnetism that drew you in, even when you resisted. It was that teasing playfulness of him, the way he doled out affection once he got to know you and how he easily, with no effort, made you feel like you were the most important person in his world. It was how he made you forget that all those things didn’t necessarily make you a special snowflake. It was just how he was, and even the brightest and strongest women out there could be sucked in.

But Brock wasn’t available. He was engaged. There was a barbed-wire-covered wall between us, a deep line in the sand that would never allow me to even ponder those thoughts. Not that I was thinking them now.

---